*”We raised you for this!”*
*”I gave you the most, so I deserve more in return. Or have you forgotten about the flat?”*
Mum’s voice on the phone was sharp, grating on Lily’s nerves like sandpaper. She wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear, one hand steadying the saucepan while the other stirred the porridge.
*”Mum, we’ve already talked about this,”* Lily said, straining to keep the tension out of her voice. *”Ethan and I are going to his parents’ place on Saturday. We promised to help in the garden. They’ve got loads to do.”*
*”And I suppose my boxes will unpack themselves?”* Ingrid scoffed. *”The movers drank away their wages again. We need to shift the crates. Come in the morning—we’ll be done by lunch. Then you can run off to your precious garden.”*
Lily sank into a chair, her pulse quickening. These conversations never changed. Mum never *asked*—she demanded. And her arguments were ironclad, heavy with the weight of moral debt.
*”Mum, we made a commitment,”* Lily repeated, though she knew it was pointless. *”They hardly see us as it is. I can’t just cancel.”*
*”Oh, is that how it is?”* Ingrid’s voice rose. *”After everything I’ve done for my daughter, she still turns her back on me?”*
Lily shut her eyes briefly. *Here we go.*
*”Remember your wedding? Who gave you money for the flat? His parents? Please—they can’t even afford to fix their own place! If it weren’t for me, you’d still be renting.”*
Ethan had heard everything from the next room—or enough to fill in the gaps. He leaned against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed. Lily could feel his stare. She hung up abruptly and met his gaze.
*”You heard?”* she asked quietly.
*”Enough,”* he said flatly. *”Tell her not to call again. Does she think she bought us?”*
Lily wanted to argue, but the words stuck in her throat. She understood him. Every time Mum *reminded* them of her help, it felt like she was living in a rented flat—with her own mother as the landlord.
Ethan strode onto the balcony, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. The door slammed hard enough to make Lily flinch.
She sat with her head in her hands. At first, she’d thought Mum just wanted her to have a better life. Now, that sweetness had soured.
At the wedding, Ingrid had been impossible to miss—fire-red dress, as if she were the bride. Lavish spread, live band, two hosts. All thanks to *her*.
When it came to gifts, Mum stood, raised an envelope high, and announced—loud enough for everyone, including Ethan’s parents—*”This is your fresh start. Here’s my gift…”* and named the sum.
Ethan had gripped Lily’s hand under the table. His parents, Margaret and Paul, gave their envelope later: humble, no numbers, just warmth.
*”We’re not rich, but it’s given with love,”* Paul said, flushing. *”Happiness and patience. And most of all—listen to each other.”*
Ingrid was busy chatting with a distant cousin. Words didn’t move her—numbers did.
Lily glanced around the flat: the pale walls, the slow cooker, the tea set. Everything here began with that envelope. The renovation, the furniture.
She’d thought Mum simply wanted to help. Now she saw it for what it was—an investment. And with every demand, Ingrid cashed in.
A week passed. Then another. Their calls grew terse, always initiated by Mum. Lily sometimes reached for the phone but stopped herself. She wasn’t angry—just wary of the cold sting of resentment.
Ethan refused to engage.
*”Go see her if you want,”* he told Lily. *”I won’t sit there being told I owe her. Family isn’t a business deal.”*
It stung, but Lily stayed quiet. Was he wrong?
She couldn’t dodge it forever. One day, she tried confronting Mum.
*”We’re grateful for your help,”* she began carefully, *”but gratitude isn’t an obligation.”*
Ingrid’s brows shot up. *”Really? What about giving back? A glass of water in my old age? We raise children to look after us!”*
Something in Lily snapped. She’d known it was coming, but hearing it laid bare—
She remembered another time. Flat-hunting. Hours scrolling Rightmove, Zoopla, Gumtree. Ethan checked tube routes, compared layouts. They’d found a perfect one-bed, just outside London—clean, balcony, new floors. Not grand, but cosy. Within budget.
Ingrid had insisted on topping them up for a two-bed.
*”You’ll be cramped! What about children? I can help—you’ll thank me later.”*
*”This is enough,”* Ethan had cut in. *”We’ll manage.”*
Lily had laughed then. *”Ethan, you act like she’s charging interest! This isn’t a bank.”*
Now, she was grateful for his suspicion. Otherwise, their debt would’ve doubled.
Even Margaret and Paul, always kind, had grown distant. Margaret spoke stiffly; Paul made barbed remarks.
*”So we hear the flat’s down to your mum?”* he’d said over tea. *”Lucky girl—what a dowry. Not like ours.”*
Later, Lily learned why. At Ethan’s birthday, Ingrid had whispered to a relative:
*”I paid for most of that flat. His parents are broke. Shouldn’t suffer for it.”*
The words had reached Paul and Margaret—who’d actually covered a quarter of the cost. Not renovations, but still.
Lily burned with shame—not hers, but still hers.
That evening, she sat across from Ethan as he scrolled through his phone.
*”I’m caught in the middle,”* she said finally. *”But I’m not blind. I see it.”*
He put the phone down.
*”Her ‘help’ costs too much,”* she admitted. *”I don’t want to owe her forever.”*
*”It’s not debt anymore,”* Ethan said. *”It’s a war—chipping away at us.”*
Lily nodded. He’d given her permission to stop it.
*”No more deals disguised as care,”* she said softly. *”If she wants to talk, fine. But no more guilt. Even if I have to… put my foot down.”*
She wasn’t alone. That helped.
Of course, Mum didn’t relent.
*”Lily, darling! Auntie Sylvia’s train gets in at 3 a.m. on Wednesday. You know how sketchy taxis are in our town at that hour.”*
Not a request—a command. Lily steadied herself.
*”We can’t. Ethan’s up early. If you’d told us sooner—”*
*”Oh, of course,”* Ingrid huffed. *”You’ll drop everything for his parents, but I need an appointment?”*
She sighed dramatically, as if Lily had abandoned Auntie Sylvia in the wilderness.
*”Fine. Suit yourself,”* Mum snapped. *”Just don’t come running when you need help. After all I’ve done—”*
Lily clenched her jaw. She’d expected this, but pushing back still hurt.
*”You’ve done a lot. Thank you. But I’m not your property. Neither is Ethan.”*
Silence. Then—
*”Crystal clear,”* Ingrid spat.
The line went dead.
A week of quiet. Then Lily bumped into Marion, a mutual friend.
*”Your mum’s been chatting!”* Marion laughed. *”Said Ethan only married you for the flat—picked a girl with money!”*
Lily froze.
*”What?”*
*”Well, you know your mum. Loose lips. Just… hope it doesn’t reach Ethan.”* Marion sobered, realising it wasn’t funny.
Lily could only wonder if Ethan knew yet. But Mum wasn’t stopping. Something had to give.
They met the solicitor the following week. Drafted a deed of gift—assigning Ethan’s parents’ quarter-share. Legally, it changed little, but for Lily, it was freedom.
She agonised over texting Mum, but finally did:
*”Thank you for your help. But help isn’t an investment. We don’t owe you. His parents helped too—now Ethan owns a quarter. No more money talk. Especially not to others.”*
Ingrid never replied. The silence weighed heavy at first—then lighter. If she still gossiped, it wasn’t Lily’s burden.
Three months later, at Paul and Margaret’s—a cosy cottage with peeling paint and windowLily looked around at the simple, loving home—free from ledgers and conditions—and finally exhaled, knowing she’d chosen peace over debt.
